With Rue My Heart Is Laden
by Bollinger92
Summary: Fisrt A2A fic, oneshot set after events of 2.4. Gene and Alex get some alone time.


Ok, this is my first Ashes To Ashes fic, and my first fanfic in over a year, so excuses for any mistakes - my writing's a bit rusty. Reviews would be lovely, especially critcal ones because I'd like to do some more a2a stuff and need to know what I'm getting wrong. Thanks! Oh, and yeah, Ashes to Ashes and characters aren't mine, property of Kudos, BBC, yada yada. On with the story...

It had been a funny old day, Alex thought, as she surveyed the destruction Mack and his cronies had wreaked in her flat. Stuff was everywhere: cutlery had been scattered across the worktop and in a shining trail across the kitchen floor; ripped packets and open jars had been dumped in the sink; clothes, books and magazines had been thoughtlessly rifled through, discarded and chucked across the room; the neat pile of work she'd brought back from the office and painstakingly finished, sorted and paper-clipped now lay strewn in a crisp layer over everything else. Lots of the odd little knick-knacks and some of the clothes weren't even hers - they had just been there in the flat when she had moved in, and it had seemed like too much effort to get rid of them. Now it looked as though a bomb had hit it. Alex allowed herself a twisted smile at that thought. So many bombs in her life, so many explosions…

With a sigh she waded through the mess and cleared a space on the sofa. She'd clear up in a couple of minutes, there was no hurry; she just needed a few moments to sit and rest. Leaning her head back she closed her eyes. Her mind immediately began to mull over the day's events… God, but it had been a strange day. A strange few days, even. She smiled at the memory of Jackie Queen; they had got on rather well in the end, much to Gene's chagrin, and Alex thought that she'd miss the fiery Glaswegian. One of Sam's more interesting characters, she considered, although she was beginning to wonder how fictitious they were. Superintendent Mackintosh had been one of her own characters, and she definitely wouldn't miss him. Gene's face as he had watched Mack die, the helpless withdrawn anger, the desperate grief that she had seen there as he washed the blood off his hands… He had shut her out again then, and she hadn't been surprised, hadn't known what to say, hadn't wanted to intrude into the private cloud of darkness that swirled around his thoughts.

She had left work early, slipping out and walking back to Luigi's alone, needing a little peace, the cool April wind sweeping along the streets to meet her in a blustery embrace. The sun had burst through the clouds at that moment and the puddles in the road had shone back the gold and blue of the sky like shimmering looking-glasses; a gust had snatched the blossom off a cherry tree overhanging a garden wall and the tiny blushing petals had fluttered and danced around her, and it had felt a little bit magical.

So she had gone into the restaurant and smiled and chatted with Luigi, and he had given her a delicious spaghetti carbonara and she had laughed and drunk only sparkling water.

Few of the others had come that evening and she had watched them murmur quietly among themselves, quickly finish their drinks, and depart. Luigi had looked hurt but didn't say anything, and neither did Alex. And then Gene had come, and they'd sat at their table and talked, and she had been careful of him, relieved that the phone had interrupted them until she had heard the voice at the other end. Disturbed then, she'd made her excuses and come up to the flat that she'd avoided all afternoon and now sat in alone in the gathering dusk.

A knock on the door startled Alex from her reverie. She stood up abruptly and made her way through the junk, scattering more of her papers as she did so. The door opened to reveal her DCI clutching a bottle of red and two glasses.

"Thought you might need a hand clearing up," he sounded almost apologetic as he looked at the wreckage behind her. "Blimey, but you've had some cowboys in here, Bolls."

"Yes," Alex closed the door quietly and turned to him with a wry smile. "They certainly used their search warrant effectively."

Gene grunted and set the bottle on the table. "A warrant from the same judge that gave me the one for Jarvis's house. S'pose that explains some of it."

He plonked himself down moodily on the sofa and poured the wine. She sat down more awkwardly, slightly away from him, before taking her glass and sipping from it. Gene watched her from over the rim of his own, his face unreadable.

"Thank you, Gene," Alex suddenly blurted.

"What for?"

"For- for being my rock," she said. It sounded an odd phrase even to her ears, although she meant it sincerely. "I mean, if it hadn't been for you I could have been locked in a cell right now." Alex smiled hesitantly at him and he smiled back at her before sobering.

"If it hadn't been for me Bolly, you wouldn't have been charged at all. I shouldn't have let you get involved."

"Now you know I would have-" Alex tried to argue but Gene cut over her.

"Mack warned me more than once that you were getting dangerous to him. He'd've locked the door and thrown away the key. Prison is the worst place for a copper and Holloway's one of the meanest. There are some bad, bad people in there Bolls, and they'd kick the shit out of a posh tart like you."

"Not before I'd given them a few kicks first."

"I'd bet on that, Bolly." He looked at her appraisingly, drinking in her proud, well-defined features: the determined jaw, quick mouth and defiant, laughing, hopelessly sad eyes. "C'm'ere," he said on an impulse, leaning back on the sofa and opening a beckoning arm to her.

For a moment she was surprised. Recently Gene had stirred up a war of emotions within her, but she only hesitated for a couple of seconds. _Why the hell not? _she thought. _A hug isn't going to change anything._

She shuffled over and curled up against his shoulder, oddly comforted by the weight of his arms around her, blushing slightly at the memory of the similar and altogether much hotter experience they'd shared in the vault under Edgehampton. She laughed as he squeezed her playfully and he chuckled when she squeezed him back. The noise was pleasant, heard from deep in his chest, and Alex thought how he didn't laugh enough.

"What's all this in aid of?" she asked, teasingly suspicious, with her cheek pressed to his suit.

"You just looked like you needed it."

"Yeah, right. You're insatiable Hunt." But she didn't move away.

"Hmm, you bet I am," Gene growled, suddenly too tired and comfortable to act upon it. They sat there quietly for a few moments, happy to just be silent.

"I'm glad you didn't go to Plymouth," Alex murmured eventually.

"Me too," he sighed. "I hate bloody pasties."

She snorted. Silence fell again and Gene began unconsciously to stroke her hair, running and twisting it gently between his fingers. Outside, the sun was setting and the light coming through the window as they sat there had turned slowly from a pale apricot hue to a deep and spectacular orange-red that set the sky ablaze.

"I'm sorry about Mack," Alex said, very softly. She felt Gene's hand still on her head, then take up its rhythm again.

"Me too," he repeated, quieter, more regretful. "He used to be a good man, one of the best. I looked up to him and he betrayed me. And I forgave him." His voice was low as it rumbled against her ear. "Where does that leave me, Bolly? What does that make me?"

She remembered something he had said to her, not so long ago. "It makes you one of the good guys, Gene."

"Really? I'll be sure to mention that to his daughter when I tell her tomorrow why her father shot himself." His voice was bitter but she knew the anger behind it wasn't directed at her. She couldn't think what to say, knew he wouldn't accept her reassurance, and could only lay her hand over his and rub the rough knuckles soothingly with her thumb. Again they became lost in their own thoughts, bathed in the dark blood-orange light. The lines of a poem she had learned at school came back to Alex and she quoted them slowly aloud:

" 'Ensanguining the skies

How heavily it dies

Into the west away;

Past touch and sight and sound

Not further to be found,

How hopeless under ground

Falls the remorseful day.' "

Gene grunted, seemingly unimpressed, but secretly quite touched by the melancholy words. "Barrel of laughs tonight, aren't we?"

"Mmmm," Alex hummed drowsily into his chest. He pulled back slightly from her, unlooping his arm from her shoulders and leaving her cold. He sighed deeply and rubbed his face roughly with his hands.

"It's dying, Alex," he said with an intense weariness, and she understood without having to ask what he meant. "People like Mackintosh and Woolf, they're just symptoms of a disease that's been there so long that it's spread like a revolting fungus, a cancer, and there's no stopping it now. What we've seen are the death throws, Bolly. We've won a tiny little victory today but the war's almost over and we're on the losing side."

"No," she shook her head, "No. It's not over yet, not by a long way. Not while we've got strength enough to fight."

" 'Alive enough to have strength to die,'" Gene said bitterly. Alex frowned at him and cocked her head to one side.

"Thomas Hardy?" she asked, surprised.

Gene smirked. "I know. Got a B in my English O level. Good eh?"

She shook her head again but she was smiling, "That's not the point, Gene. The Force will carry on, it'll survive. There'll be changes, some perhaps not for the better, but it'll still have the same core values. People will come to trust us again, we'll still be protecting people, upholding the law, CID will still be here in twenty, thirty years time." Her gaze was so steady and earnest that he almost dared to believe her. "I guarantee it. I promise, Gene."

He was looking at her in an odd questioning way, a strange expression on his face, and Alex felt scared for a second that his piercing eyes were looking right into her soul, but stared defiantly back. Then:

"You sounded just like Sam when you said that," he murmured. "He was always saying stuff like that, like he knew what was going to happen in the future. He did sometimes and all, I lost a hundred quid to him on the World Cup." He laughed and shook his head, "God I miss that twonk sometimes."

Alex looked away and took a deep breath, "For what it's worth, Gene, I know that Sam really loved it here. Loved being with you lot, with Annie, in 1973. I don't know if you know it, but he almost lost this place once and he- he realised that he couldn't live without it." _In more ways than one_, said a little voice in her head. "He had people here he cared about," she looked at his face, into his blue-green-grey eyes and realised something that had been bothering her for a while. "And I think," she said sadly. "I think I can understand that."

"Really?" he had turned to face her and they were suddenly so close that he could feel her breath ghosting against his lips, the heat of her skin close to his, and he ached. He leaned further in, drawing forward to close the gap, those painful centimetres between them seeming to stretch forever. Then something shifted behind him, a flash of crimson tumbled to the floor and he felt her tense, flinched back and the moment was gone. Cursing inwardly, Gene leaned down to pick up the distracting object and frowned in puzzlement at the slightly crushed rose that came up in his hand.

"Another present from your milk-tray man?" he asked lightly, as though nothing had happened. Or almost happened. _Damn._

But Alex wasn't listening. She was staring at the flower. She watched, fascinated, as a handful of scarlet petals slipped from the bruised head, dribbling over Gene's wrists and spilling like drops of blood over his lap. _That wasn't there this morning,_ she thought desperately. _I know because I turned over all the cushions looking for the TV remote_. "How did he get in?" she whispered.

"What?" said Gene sharply.

She ignored the question and plucked the rose from his fingers, revealing a cream-coloured cardboard tag tied to the stalk, identical to the one she had received before. With a sinking feeling in her stomach she turned the card over and read the neat, strangely italicised writing.

"Well?" Gene demanded. "What does it say?"

" 'I will lead them up and down,' " Alex said, faintly. She frowned and flipped the card over, looking at the back for any other clues and then turning it back. "Just, 'I will lead them up and down.' "

He humphed. "What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"It's from A Midsummer Night's Dream," she said, distractedly. "Puck."

"I've had enough bloody poetry for one day." He had a feeling of dread welling up in the pit of his stomach and it was making him cross. "What kind of nutter sends flowers and poetry to a woman?"

Alex gave him a pointed look. He bristled back and felt crosser. "You know what I mean," he snapped and immediately felt guilty for it. Why did he always have to be a bastard to this woman? A thought struck him. "This isn't the same weirdo that attacked you in Soho, is it?" She didn't answer and his fear grew. "Bolly?"

"Yes."

"Well, thanks a bunch for sharing! Christ, Alex, this guy's already hurt you once, why didn't you tell me?!"

She knew he was angry and that he had a right to be, but she couldn't explain her reasons to him. She was also scared and that made her own anger flare.

"I don't have to share everything with you, you know Gene!" she stood and stalked away from him, needing the distance.

"You're my DI!" he hissed furiously at her. "I don't need to know your bloody menstrual cycle Bolly, but there are things that are important and this is one of them! I can't have you pissing off to chase some randy psycho without telling me what the hell is going on first!"

"This has nothing to do with you or the fucking team, Hunt!" her eyes glittered with rage. "I don't need your help!" The second the words slipped out she wanted to bite them back. But they were out and he was standing opposite her with his face an unreadable mask.

"Fine," he spat. With controlled fury he downed the wine left in his glass and picked up his coat. "See you in the morning, Alex." His voice was as cold and stony as his eyes.

Alex started forward, "Gene, wait, I'm sorry-"

But he had already slammed the door behind him. She flopped back miserably onto the sofa and cuffed the angry tears from her eyes and sighed. She twirled the rose between her fingers before viciously twisting the head off and hurling the desiccated bloom across the sunset-tinted room. The petals cascaded over the paper that lay in drifts, like a handful of blood splashed across the snow, and Alex put her head in her hands and moaned.


End file.
